


With a Spark Belonging to the Sky

by Arcxus



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: ...uhhh, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, M/M, Same for characters, Starscream being Starscream, how to tag, oh yeah, relationship tags will update as I figure out where this is going, rodimus is a mess, seeker Roddy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-10-15 02:04:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17520110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcxus/pseuds/Arcxus
Summary: A compilation of writings for my seeker-spark Rodimus AU on Tumblr. Enjoy!





	1. Chapter 1

**I**

Rodimus missed the sky.

 _How,_ one might ask, _do you miss something you see every day?_

When one’s wings are torn from their back, and there’s little chance of ever flying again, missing it - or rather, remembering it for what it had been - was all you could do.

He was told that whoever harvested his spark from the hotspot _seriously_ fragged up, and extensive frame modifications had been necessary “in order to continue function.” That was code for “we didn't have the funds to fix you, so so we stuck you back into Vector Sigma and hoped for the best.” Rodimus couldn't fault them. It wasn’t a well-protected hotspot. Attacks weren’t unheard of. Funding for frame replacements, especially for newsparks, was nonexistent.

So he did what he could with what he was left with.

An oversized spoiler took the place of wings. Speed became a subpar replacement for the elation of flight. Power from foot thrusters converted to exhaust pipes that spit vibrant fire.

But the truth was undeniable: Hot Rod of Nyon had the spark of a seeker. A seeker’s spark, confined to a grounder’s frame. It was almost cruel.

Some days, the sky-sickness was almost unbearable.

Some days, the ragged edges of a lost trine bond still haunted his spark.

So he adapted. The overcharged, unused energy within his spark manifesting as flames, which he boldly painted on his chest. A message to all others: _This will not break me._

So he raced. Pushing his engine to the limits, surroundings blurring to a haze, problems facing away until it was just him and the ground and the unreachable sky above. it was easy to forget.

The ache, he theorized, came from an overabundance of energy. An engine built for low-input, high-output situations, like flying, and then not allowed to perform its intended function? All that energy had to go somewhere. As a result, Hot Rod tended to be lively, hyper, almost overly-enthusiastic. A cheerful mask to combat the hollowness he felt inside.

With time, it got better, as most things do.

With time, it was almost possible to forget what he had lost.

But some days, Rodimus turns his optics to a sky that is colored in soft ombres with wispy clouds, an invitation impossible to answer still heard in the liting breeze that flowed around his frame, a cruel reminder of what could have been… and he _wants_ , so badly, to return _home_.

 

**II**

“Why is it you come here, of all places, to brood?” Drift asked, pedsteps muted on the warm metal of the deck, heated by the rays of a nearby star. Rodimus tilted his head back, taking in the sight of his Amica. Drift looked good. But then again, Drift _always_ looked good.

“It’s nice.” Rodimus hummed, disinclined to share the real reason. He felt Drift’s arms rest atop the space between his pauldrons and collar, skillful fingers stroking Rodimus’ helm.

“Hmmm. Nice.” Drift echoed in a flat tone, beginning to scratch the one spot on Rodimus’ spoiler he couldn’t reach. “You know you can’t lie to me.”

“I know,” Rodimus sighed, leaning back. After a moment, Drift moved his arms to settle in a hug.

“Tell me why?”

“...” Rodimus remained silent, though Drift had earned the right to know many times over.

“Please?”

_Aw, scrap, he broke out the ‘please.’_

“Yeah, alright.” Rodimus conceded, “Just give me a moment. I’m…” he trailed off, unsure how to word the secret that he, alone, had kept for so long.

“Take all the time you need,” Drift assured, then began again with the spoiler scritches. This was blatant manipulation but Drift gave the best spoiler rubs so Rodimus was content to let him get away with it for now

“I wasn’t sparked with a race car atlmode,” Rodimus began, looking down. A frown marred his faceplate as he ran out of words after that first sentence. “Um, take a guess: what was my original function?”

“Whatever it was, it shouldn’t matter.” Drift pointed out. “You are you.”

Rodimus rolled his eyes. “Just humour me,” he pleaded. It wasn't long before Drift sighed, giving in. Rodimus grinned at the victory.

“Hmm…” Drift hummed, still nuzzling Rodimus’ cheek in a very distracting way. “It’s hard to see you as anything other than a speedster... I suppose je- no, that’s stupid.”

“Whaaaaat?” Rodimus drawled. “C’mon, spill.”

Drift cocked his head to the side. “I almost want to say jet, but that’s a ridiculous guess.”

“........not that ridiculous if it’s true,” Rodimus pointed out quietly.

“What?” Drift blinked, “Not a joke?”

“Nope.”

“How?” Drift asked, nose wrinkling as he tried to logic the concept out.

“All they told me was that extensive modifications were needed in order for me to continue functioning,” Rodimus explained, “Which is a nice way to say they didn't think I was worth fixing. But yeah, I have a seeker’s spark.”

“That’s... incredible. You're incredible.”

“Mmmh. Not really.” He sighed. “It just means I miss the sky a lot.”

“You’ve never flown,” Drift remarked, and the spoiler scritches resumed. Rodimus sighed in contentment.

“Why do you think I go meteor surfing?” He giggled, shivers running through his frame as Drift’s deft fingers caught on a particularly sensitive piece of plating. _Wait._ Optics wide, Rodimus grabbed the other mech’s hands, stilling them before Drift could get any further. Both of them knew exactly what Drift had been about to do. “ _Don’t_ start tickling me, I’ll....” Rodimus warned, then stalled. “I don’t know, I’ll do something. You’ll regret it.”

“Fine.” Drift huffed, then instead took one of Rodimus’ hands in his own and began to repeatedly sign ‘I love you,’ in chirolinguistics. He turned his gaze upward. “Missing the sky... Is that why you come up here?”

Rodimus turned to look at the stars, twinkling brightly in the newly awoken night. He took Drift’s other hand and signed back ‘I love you too.’

“Yeah.”

 

**III**

“Rodimus!”

Rodimus blinked, jerking back, startled out of his daydream. _What?_ Oh. Rodimus narrowed his optics at the face that was very much invading his privacy bubble.

“Brainstorm.” He said acidly. “ _What_ do you want?”

The jet’s optics lit up excitedly at the question, and Rodimus felt a chill run down his back struts. _Shit,_ he realized, _I gave him an opening._

“Do. You. Know. Wingspeak?” Brainstorm asked, with each word leaning closer until there was less than an inch between excited yellow optics and Rodimus’ weary blue ones.

“Noooooooo….?” Rodimus hazarded as an answer, spoiler flicking down in discomfort. _Too close._ Brainstorm, for all his genius, had no concept of personal space. “Can you not?” He asked, moving his hands in an ‘away’ gesture.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Brainstorm stepped back, wings momentarily canting sideways in disappointment. “Are you suuuure you don’t know Wingspeak?”

“Yes?” Rodimus ventured. _Was this a test?_

“Oh alright. Because you - and now I’m certain you have absolutely no idea you’re doing this - are _already_ quite fluent in Wingspeak.” Brainstorm explained, tone very matter-of-fact.

“I am?” Rodimus asked, tilting his helm sideways. His spoiler fins flicked up with interest. “Okay. Sure. I don’t even know what that is.”

“Oh, allow me to explain,” Brainstorm grinned, “Wingspeak is the physical, kinetic language of seekers, aerialbots and the occasional praxian. It’s an additional subcomponent within conversations, much like Seeker-Cant.” He looked expectantly at Rodimus.

A long, confused silence followed.

“I’m lost.” Rodimus eventually admitted. “In Cyberhex, please.”

“Those movements you make with your spoiler mean things.” Brainstorm said slowly, with the air of someone explaining a concept to a newspark.

“Oh. So like…” Rodimus trailed off, memories about his true function arising from the place he’d locked them in. Flying. Missing the Sky. A broken bond. _Emptiness._

He reset his vocalizer and tried again, “I’m somehow talking in Wingspeak, but with my spoiler?”

“Exactly!” Brainstorm crowed, clapping his hands together. “I suppose you might have picked it up from me… that’s one theory, anyways. The fact that your spoiler in itself is large and shaped suspiciously like wings is quite peculiar - ohhh, do they have the same range of motion? We should test that. Actually…”

Rodimus tuned out the jet’s excited chatter, thoughts turning inwards. He had the spark of a seeker. That was a fact. A fact he had no intention of telling Brainstorm right now, lest the scientist actually explode from excitement.

The oversized spoiler had been part of his re-forged frame as a replacement for wings, since there was no option in amputating the joints or nerve endings. Most seekers who truly lose their wings end up dying, or mad, or _worse_. This was also a fact.

There was a lot of his programming Rodimus had learned to ignore and circumvent. The fear of being branded an outcast, an anomaly, was motivation enough. Why? Because drawing attention to oneself in the middle of the war was a surefire way to get killed.

But the war was over now, and perhaps… perhaps there would be no harm in indulging the part of himself he’d tried to hard to suppress. What was it Drift had said - _let go of old prejudices, and start anew with an open mind?_ Something along those lines.

That, and the idea of having secret conversations in the middle of Magnus’ meetings - even his conversation partners were limited to Brainstorm and Cyclonus - was very, _very_ appealing. Those meetings were the worst.

“Hey, Brainstorm!” Rodimus called, interrupting the jet’s rant.

“Yes?”

“Can you teach me?”

The brightness of the answering grin almost made Rodimus rethink his decision. _Almost._

 

**IV**

“No.”

“Rodimus,” Ultra Magnus sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead, “They will be here for one day. One. Day.”

“Still a no.” Rodimus scowled, arms crossed. If inanimate objects could feel EM fields, the desk he was glaring holes at would be a pile of smouldering ashes. Exactly like how he wished this plan would be: _nonexistent._

“You do understand that they are going to board us, regardless of your answer.” Drift pointed out.

“I know,” Rodimus groaned, turning to bury his face in his Amica’s shoulder. “I know and I hate it. And I’m still going to fight it.” He muttered, voice muffled in Drift’s armour. Drift patted his helm in consolation.

“It’s not that bad. It could be worse.” He continued. Rodimus sighed, leaning into Drift’s clever fingers.

“I know.”

“They could have decided to prolong this inspection an entire week.”

“I know.”

“Prowl could be one of the mechs coming aboard.”

“Please,” Rodimus lifted his head, looking flatly into Drift’s grinning optics. He was fighting the urge to smile. “Read the mood and shut up.”

Drift just snickered, but refrained from making further comments. There was no need - he had already accomplished his mission.

“I believe it would be best if you left Optimus Prime to me.” Megatron spoke. His tone cautious, yet optics bright with determination. Seeing no opposition, he continued. “This is an unpleasant event for all of us. The least I can do is handle the one adversary I know best.”

“You sure, Megs?” Rodimus asked, glancing warily at his co-captain. “You _hate_ Optimus Prime. A lot.”

“And you don’t?” Megatron said, raising his gaze from the floor to stare blandly at Rodimus. Rodimus looked away. If he said ‘no’ now it’d be a lie, and everyone in the room knew it.

“Touche.”

“He’s got you there.” Drift pointed out, still grinning.

The swordsmech was of the opinion that this whole meeting was a comedy and Rodimus, for the life of him, couldn’t fathom how. It was the _opposite_ of funny. It was the precursor to the metaphorical cyber storm and he _hated_ it.

“Alright. Fine. Magnus, inform the crew.” Rodimus ordered, still scowling. This day sucked. “Nautica already volunteered to go with Windblade. Megs, you’re in charge of keeping Optimus distracted and that leaves Drift and I... with who? Starscream?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Magnus muttered, double checking the list of mechs who were not to be left alone on the Lost Light.

“Frag.”

This day really, really sucked.

—

Starscream was not having a good day.

Of course, it had begun perfectly normally. Most horrible days are like that. For the entirety of ten minutes, there even existed the fragile possibility of it being a _good_ day. Until, of course, Optimus slagging Prime had to butt his nonexistent nose into Starscream’s business, _again_.

The events that followed the vile video call had all cleanly attributed to this woeful downward spiral of bad and horrible things Starscream now had to deal with.

For starters, he would be seeing Megatron again.

Megatron, of all mechs!

And to make things even worse, _Prime_ would be coming along as well. Hopefully, those meddling once-enemies would just off each other for once. That would be a _wonderful_ early creation-day present.

A small, yet marginally important consolation was that Windblade, walking briskly beside him, appeared just as unhappy about this as Starscream felt - which was an impressive feat in itself.

“Ready?” Windblade asked, face set in a determined grimace Starscream knew all too well.

“Not at all, but there’s no point in turning back now.” He muttered, pitching his voice low in case Prime decided to listen in. “And I don’t want to leave the lumbering oaf in front of us to his own devices. It’s a major inconvenience, on both my part and yours. You _do_ remember what happened last time, yes?”

“Would it kill you to be _nice_ for once?” Windblade hissed, optics alight, before sagging and running a hand down her face. “But you’re right this time, as much as I loathe to admit it. I want to keep a close eye on them both. Optimus _and_ Megatron.”

“I’m always right.” Starscream pointed out, an idea piecing itself together in his processor. “And yes, you’re absolutely correct. Those two menaces are now _your_ responsibility since you seem to so keen about being included this time around.”

“Wh- Starscream, you can’t just _do_ that!”

“I just did. I’ve got other, more important matters to attend.”

“Like, what?” Windblade scowled, “Hiding from Megatron in the sanitational storage?”

“Oh, do _shut up.”_ Starscream huffed, turning away from the infuriating camien and eyeing the fast-approaching figure of the Lost Light.

Today was going to be horrible. He could feel it.

  
  
**V**

“Optimus.”

“Megatron.”

The two once-enemies greeted each other with identical succinct tones. Curt, yet harboring an undercurrent of respect grudgingly granted over millennia of facing one other from opposite poles of the battlefield. Yet it did little to hide the prickly EM fields and stiff posture that betrayed their desire to get this superfluous scheme over with.

Rodimus took a single cursory glance at that shitshow about to happen and decided he’d be immediately tuning it all out the moment he could afford to do so. Until then, he’d have to suffer through the unpleasant pleasantries.

“Rodimus.” Optimus said, tone softening. Rodimus boldly met Prime’s expression with his own discontent one. Prme continued, undeterred, and totally unable to get a hint. “Apologies for arriving on such short notice. It is good to see you, and Ultra Magnus.”

“Can't say the same, Prime.” Rodimus said flatly, spoiler hiked up in a deliberate position that he’d finally (finally!) wrangled out of Brainstorm. A clear, unmistakable flick followed. _Frag off, you pit-spawned glitch._

Optimus Prime, blessedly, didn’t understand an iota of wingspeak. Rodimus could say all the uncouth phrases he wished and no one would blink an optic. It was brilliant. Well. _Mostly_ brilliant.

Optimus Prime might not understand wingspeak but, if the imploring glare turned in Rodimus’ direction was anything to go by, Megatron definitely did. 

 _[Try not to be too immature.]_ The comm. message read, swathed in Megatron’s customary dry vocals. There was an undertone of amusement woven through, so Rodimus wasn't too worried. He winked deliberately, a smirk flitting across his face.

_[Is that a challenge? ;) ]_

_[Rodimus, please.]_

Grinning, Rodimus simply turned his helm away, coincidentally meeting Drift’s optics as he did so. His Amica simply tilted his head in question, and Rodimus replied with a wry smile in Megatron’s direction, spoiler fluttering. Getting the message, Drift shook his head. Whether he was amused or exasperated, Rodimus couldn't tell. 

 _[You swore in Prime’s face.]_ It wasn’t a question. Drift was familiar enough with wingspeak to parse out the general meaning, though the specific wording sometimes escaped him.

 _[Prime will never know.]_ Rodimus sent back, still high on the giddiness of executing a prank well.

_[Sure. As long as Starscream doesn’t decide to tell him.]_

_[What!?]_  Rodimus’ intake stuttered. _Shit_. Spinning around, he saw that Starscream was indeed studying him, a disturbingly interested gleam present in those wicked red optics. Rodimus felt his spark sink. _[Oh, scrap.]_

Unaware of Rodimus’ plight - or perhaps, fully aware and content to simply ignore him - Ultra Magnus had taken charge and ushered the two war leaders away. If it were any other situation, Rodimus would be right there with Magnus. He was Captain, after all. But Megatron had kindly volunteered to manage that slumbering pile of scraplets and Rodimus had _no intention_ of running into Prime ever again. How could someone be both inspiring and such an asshole at the same time?

Even Starscream duty seemed appealing at this point… and that was a thought he never though he’d think. Damn. Windblade and Nautica, on the other hand, were chatting amicably as they followed behind the entourage, with Whirl cheerily tagging along at the end. They seemed to be the only people happy with this situation. _Wait._

“Who let Whirl in here?” Rodimus asked, turning to Drift.

“I think he let himself in.” Drift replied idly, unconcerned. Rodimus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Of course he did.”

The emptiness of the once-full room suddenly seemed increasingly oppressive. They were alone now, in the lobby adjacent to the exit. Drift, Rodimus and Starscream. Unwilling to be the one to start this conversation, Rodimus constrained himself to shuffling his pedes, posture disinterested. Starscream, becoming impatient, took it upon himself to initiate contact instead.

“And then there were three.” The Seeker drawled, tone as dry as the Vosnian Wastes.

“Uh. Yeah.” Rodimus shrugged, all of a sudden unsure about what to do. His own seeker coding had been acting up all day, but there was no chance he was following those prompts. Especially not in front of Starscream. _No fragging way._  

He valiantly squashed all the tangential thoughts, deciding to focus instead on the moment. Starscream was still watching him, wings poised in a manner that indicated interest, but not hostility. _That was… good. Mostly._

“Correct me if I’m wrong - and I’m _not_ \- you clearly know wingspeak.” Starscream purred, not unlike a cycbercat who'd discovered a particularly tasty glitchmouse. Ruby optics met Rodimus’ cyan ones. “How?”

Rodimus' plating prickled. _Going straight for the kill, was he?_

“Maybe I’m just that awesome.” He huffed, tone clipped and unwilling to elaborate further. Starscream didn’t even pretend to get the hint.

“Mhmm. There’s more than that, _obviously,_ but you can hold onto your secrets. For now.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.” Rodimus scowled, spoiler waggling in discomfort. _Leave it alone._

It was a diversion, and a poor attempt at one. Everyone in the room knew it. Wingspeak could not be learned. It was a subroutine encoded in one’s core coding, exclusive to seekers alone and, to a lesser extent, praxians and other mecha with doorwings. There was a reason that Drift, despite all his years with the Decepticons, could only grasp the general meaning of the motions.

After a tense silence, Starscream’s expression softened. “Do not misunderstand, Rodimus of Nyon. I’m _perfectly capable_ of filling in the gaps myself. You could tell me nothing and we could both continue this farce, dancing around the problem like Prime tends to do,” a bitter ‘ _tch’_  followed, before the seeker continued, “But know that I _only_ ask because I might be able to _help.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's enough snippets to make a new chapter! Yay!

**VI**

“Please tell me you’re joking.” Rodimus said flatly. _Starscream? Wanting to help?_ It sounded like the greatest cosmic joke since the end of the war.

At this, an almost hurt expression fluttered across the seeker’s faceplate before the customary indifference returned. “I’m _not.”_ Starscream said coolly. “Though your blatant lack of faith almost makes me want to retract the offer.”

“What’s in it for you?” Drift asked, deliberately moving one hand so it rested atop the hilt of a sword at his hip; a warning.

“Nothing!” Starscream hissed. “Why is it that whenever I offer anything everyone assumes I’ve got an ulterior motive?”

Rodimus tilted his helm to the side, “Do you want a list, or…?

“No, don’t answer that!” the seeker huffed. “It was rhetorical.” His wings drooped slightly as he continued, “Believe me, I know - better than anybody - exactly what it is I’ve done in the past. I promise, however, for both our sakes, that this offer is completely genuine.”

“Bold words coming from the king of lies.” Rodimus sniped, “But alright. Let’s say you are telling the truth. Why? Why would you bother to help me, of all mechs. You hate me.”

“No,” Starscream snarled. “No, I don’t. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t hate you. I _loathe_ Optimus Prime, which isn’t a hard thing to do since the mech makes it infuriatingly easy, and I still _despise_ the majority of autobot high command, save for a select few, but you, Rodimus? I don’t think you understand - I _can’t_ hate you.”

Here, the seeker paused, and Rodimus felt an almost longing tug on his spark, pulling in the place of a bond he’d thought would always be empty. He glanced up, optics wide, shock written across his faceplate. It should have been a surprise that Starscream’s expression mirrored his own. It wasn’t, though. It was almost a comfort.

“You felt that too.” Rodimus accused.

“Yes,” Starscream said faintly, “and I suppose that’s the crux of the matter.”

Rodimus felt a long-ignored piece of coding suddenly blink back to life, protocols scrolling along the left of his HUD. Unlike all previous instances, the reading didn’t result in a blank. There was a possibility that…

His vocalizer stuttered. _No way. No. Slagging. Way._ “Please don’t tell me we’re-”

“Yes you fool, we’re somehow trine compatible.”

“WE’RE trine compatible? Us?”

“Did you not hear me the first time-”

“Yeah, but US?” Rodimus did not squeak. He _didn’t_.

“Oh, I know. It’s absurd.” Starscream groaned dramatically, but the angling of his wings showed that he wasn’t _really_ displeased. “Primus is clearly fragging both of us over.”

Someone snickered. Both Starscream and Rodimus paused, turning to glare at the source.  _Who dared…?_

Drift, at the very least, had the decency to look sheepish about laughing at his Amica’s sudden midlife crisis. Yes, it was a crisis. He was trine compatible with Starscream! That was a crisis!

“I’m sorry,” the swordsmech gasped, trying (and failing) to smother laughter, “But in light of this recent development you can’t deny that Ultra Magnus is probably going to have an aneurysm.”

At this, Rodimus had to muffle a snort. “Okay, yeah. That’s one good thing that’s gonna come from this mess.” He paused, then offered Starscream an apologetic smile, “Other than the fact that I’ve found a trinemate, though I’ve honestly got no Idea how this is supposed to work.”

“That’s why _I’m_ here.” Starscream snarked, though there wasn’t a trace of malice in the tone, “But _please_ , if you want a _real_ reaction, consider Megatron’s: both his past and present second-in-command mecha in a relationship, with each other! What a scandal!”

“Hey, we’re co captains!” Rodimus protested, “And Megs isn’t so bad, really. He could’ve been a lot worse.”

“It doesn’t change my point though,” Starscream said dismissively. Then the seeker froze, wings stalling and going slack. “Oh scrap,” he grimaced, faceplate contorting into a nasty scowl. Rodimus faintly felt a thrum of anxiety run through their fragile bond.

“What’s wrong now?” He asked, surprised to find that he was actually concerned.

“How well do you think _Optimus Prime_ would take this? The possibility of us?” Starscream said slowly. Rodimus’ own spark dropped as he considered the possibility.

“Not well.” Drift muttered, finials twitching as he considered the outcome. “But he will come around in the end, as all the others will. It may be unconventional, but in a sense, it fits: your auras have always complemented each other.”

“Meaning what?” Starscream snapped.

Drift shrugged, “Meaning I’m on your side, like most of the crew will be.”

“Thanks Drift.” Rodimus snickered. At least his trinemate-to-be and Amica didn’t seem to be at each other’s throats this time. And thank primus for that, since between the two it was nearly impossible to determine who’d win.

Starscream sighed, worrying his lip. Their bond still echoed with traces of fear, but now a sliver of hope was thrown in there as well.  “Hopefully, that nosy relic won’t meddle too much. He can’t, really - trine bonds are beyond whatever laws he lives by.”

Rodimus couldn’t resist: “Bold of you to assume he follows any laws at all.”

Starscream laughed. It was a harsh sound, though not as bad as Ratchet’s. No laugh was as bad as Ratchet’s. Drift claimed to like it, but when it came to Ratchet, Drift’s opinion was clearly biased and therefore invalid. “You may have a point.”

“Either way, we’re in this together, right?”

“Of course we are.” Starscream smirked, then tentatively touched a wing to Rodimus’ spoiler. A promise. Then he had to ruin the moment with, “Do you even know what _trine_ means?”

Rodimus groaned.  _“Starscream.”_

 

**VII**

For a decepticon, Rodimus thought, Starscream was too damn pretty. It was illegal. It had to be. That, or this – surprisingly, not unwelcome – trine bond was playing on his emotions again. **  
**

“Oh don’t be like that. I can’t make you like me.” Starscream affectionately (could he call that affectionate? It certainly seemed affectionate) patted his collar. “But it does let me be privy to your more tumultuous emotions, which is enough trouble in itself.”

“So… mind reading?” He ventured. Starscream dramatically dragged a long-suffering hand across his face, but even from their small time together, Rodimus had become familiar enough with the seeker to tell he was doing so to hide a smile.

“No,” the jet scoffed, “But it does mean secret encrypted messages and… well, I suppose it is a bit like mind reading. Don’t call it that, though. The term is vulgar.”

Rodimus grinned. “That’s bloody awesome.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Starscream mused, “But that might just be because of my presence.” The statement was punctuated with a cheeky wink, and Rodimus felt energon rush to his face in an approximation of a blush. A small, strangled noise escaped him.

“Oh my Primus is this flirting?” Drift groaned. “Are you flirting?”

“We’re doing a better job than you and your medic.” Starscream shot back, scowling. Rodimus simply blew a raspberry. Drift made an exaggerated kissy face in return.

The three of them had escaped to Rodimus and Drift’s super secret 100% Ultra Magnus-free lair, hidden in the ceiling of Swerve’s bar, only accessible through a lose ceiling panel in Rodimus’ room and protected by a maze of vents and pipes (Rodimus himself hadn’t the slightest clue how the vent system worked on his ship, only that it had provided a essential hideout when he needed one and for that he was thankful).

Over time, he and Drift had managed to drag a sofa in there (it was… almost like a storage room, but missing one wall) and it had somehow become the gathering place of all of Drift’s earth-sourced memorabilia. There was… a lot of earth stuff, and prank-worthy stuff, and barely-legal stuff in here. Ultra Magnus would blow a fuse if he found out. Thankfully, Ultra Magnus would never be able to get up here. It took a certain level of finesse to navigate the vents. That, and a smaller frame. Ultra Magnus would never fit.

Starscream was sitting sideways on the couch, legs on Drift’s lap. Drift was sitting on the non-occupied side of said couch and was flipping through a datapad, reading what was clearly a classic love story but none of them saw the need to call Drift out on it. Rodimus had been banished to the floor, but he got spoiler scritches from Starscream out of the arrangement so it was cool for now. If it got too uncomfortable, Rodimus resolved to shove Drift off and steal his place or something. Drift probably deserved it.

The meeting downstairs was dragging along at an agonizingly slow pace, with  Megatron and Optimus constantly shooting pithy remarks and poorly hidden challenges at one another. Ultra Magnus, as Starscream had succinctly put it, was a total pushover when it came to Optimus Prime and therefore at this rate the day would end before this “inspection” was finally over with.

They knew all this because of the shortwave comm. unit Drift had slipped to Whirl at some point. Whirl’s narration of current events wasn’t bad, per se, only far too inventive, with many liberties taken as to what certain people’s novices were. They’d unanimously decided to keep the comm. on the lowest volume possible.

“Why don’t they just frag already!” Starscream exclaimed, flinging his hands in the air. “I can feel the tension in the room just from Whirl’s account of events, and that should not be possible.”

“Who now?” Drift asked, glancing up.

“Megs and Optimus,” Rodimus said lazily.

“Ohhhhhh,” Drift sighed, adopting an air of respectable knowing. Rodimus wasn’t fooled. That aura was a lie. Drift just liked to impress people with it. “The Decepticons had a betting pool on that.”

“Really?” Rodimus’ spoiler flicked in interest. _Gossip? Yes please._

“Oh yes,” Starscream confirmed. “Though, neither Drift nor I are in any place to win at the moment.”

Drift winced. “Yeah. I… think I put down revenge fragging. Seemed a good choice at the time.”

“Mhmm. Fragging because of “ongoing negotiations” was mine.”

“You know,” Rodimus said, after a long pause, “If they end up fragging after this Stars could win on a technicality – these are ongoing negotiations.”

“On the Lost Light?” Drift hissed. “Rodimus!”

 _“Stars?”_ Starscream choked.

“Um.” Rodimus paused. The other two were both staring at him with varying degrees of incredulity. “Okay maybe not on the Lost Light. I don’t want Optimus Prime fragging anyone on my ship. And uh, I give people nicknames?” He offered, all of a sudden feeling extremely anxious. “I can take it back if it really bothers you.”

“No,” Starscream said, a conflicted expression on his face. “No, it’s nice. I simply haven’t been called that in a very long time.”

“Well get used to it, then,” Rodimus huffed, turning away. He was not blushing like a newspark. He was _not._

“It’s mildly concerning how quickly you two moved beyond enemies and settled as friends,” Drift pointed out once the moment had passed. “Rodimus, Starscream pretty much killed you during the war. It’s only because of the matrix that you’re still here. I’m just saying that it's… odd.”

“Maybe a little odd. Honestly, I think it just happened? It’s like we click. Being trine compatible plays a big part.” Rodimus tried to explain that irrational sense of home he got when he thought about the other mech, “Besides, I did forgive Deadlock – I forgave you – and Starscream should probably get a shot at redemption.” He glanced downwards, grimacing. “I mean, even _Megatron_ got one.”

“The Autobots _do_ seem to be handing those out rather generously.” Starscream remarked. “But for the record, I don’t regret my actions that day. I know you don’t either. If you do, then you’re an afthead. We both did what we thought was best at that time. In that moment, the future was an unknown we were sorely unprepared for, and now that it’s here, the best we can do it face it head on.”

A heavy silence followed the seeker’s rant, with both Rodimus and Drift staring at said mech in surprise. Starscream’s wings hiked up in embarrassment. “What? I was merely telling the truth.”

“For a decepticon, you’re surprisingly good at pep talks.” Rodimus snickered, breaking the tension.

“You can’t talk – we _all_ know Drift writes your speeches.”

“I had no hand in the last five.” Drift remarked before turning back to his datapad.

“Huh.” Starscream paused. “Quaint. Regardless, this conversation is in dire need of a change in topic. Care to learn some embarrassing facts about the Mighty Lord Megatron himself?”

The warlord’s title was said in an absolutely horrible, highly exaggerated, extremely nasally Iaconian accent and it had Rodimus in stitches. Even Drift had to crack a smile.

“Oh my god your accent is the _worst_ ,”  Rodimus wheezed, trying to sit up from where he’d become sprawled on the floor.

“Excuse you, my accent is fantastic.” Starscream flicked Rodimus’ spoiler in mock insult. It didn’t hurt. Much. “Moving on. So, the Decepticons had just captured Praxus, and high and mighty lord Megatron had decided to be a rash and unrestrained fool in battle – not that that’s surprising, only that the consequences were more apparent, for once – and because of those injuries he…”

Learning that Megatron was so used to the weight of his fusion cannon that he would overbalance, trip, and be generally a lot more clumsy when it was taken off might have just become the highlight of Rodimus’ supposedly horrible day.

 

**VII**

Rodimus wasn’t stupid. No, in fact, he’d wager himself actually quite smart. He’d led his crew back from the dead, he’d kicked Getaway’s ugly mutineering aft, he’d managed to essentially reform the former leader of the Deceptions — two of those tasks most mecha had deemed impossible, yet he’d done them. 

And still, despite all that he’d accomplished with his crew, the way he felt now under Optimus Prime’s gaze — plating crawling, hands clenched, spoiler angled to the ground — made him feel like an impudent _sparkling_. 

He was _not_ a sparkling. He was 4.8 million years old. He’d survived the entire fragging war, and he was a member of Autobot High command, dammit! He. Was. Not. A. Sparkling. 

And Optimus really had no right to keep treating him like one. 

“You were with _Starscream?”_ Prime was saying, tone almost incredulous. Rodimus stared back flatly. Starscream’s end of the bond was prickling with poorly hidden amusement at how worked up Prime was getting. The seeker was having the time of his life, and Rodimus shoved a wave of “shut the frag up” in his trinemate’s direction. 

Starscream stopped abruptly, and a tentative, questioning sense filled the hole left behind when the mirth evaporated. Rodimus ignored it. _Not the time._ Instead, he focused back on the present, back to the optics of the esteemed autobot leader who probably deserved to be shot out the trash chute. 

“Someone had to be,” Rodimus countered, shrugging noncommittally. The _last_ thing he wanted to do was let Prime know how close to a breakdown he was. “It’s not like we could just leave him to wander the ship. Besides, I had Drift with me.” 

Prime looked like he wanted to hit his head on something. “Rodimus,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “that’s not the problem. The problem is where _no one_ could find you for over _six hours.”_  

“Sounds to _me_ like you investigative skills are lacking,” Starscream almost sing-songed, but fell silent as Prime’s glare turned to him. “What?” The Seeker huffed, “I’m not one of your Autobots, I’ve got no obligation to be _nice.”_

The last word was spat out like it was an insult. To Starscream, it probably was. However, the seeker _had_ taken Prime’s attention off Rodimus, and for that he was grateful. 

 _[We’ll talk later, I assume.]_ Starscream sent via comm. 

 _[Yeah, later.]_ Rodimus morosely agreed, dreading the conversation already. 

Turns out negotiations had concluded earlier than Rodimus had expected. The ongoing issues — which was what they would do about the major Decepticon/Autobot culture clash that was causing dissent among the masses (Windblade’s topic) and how they would re-start the ore and energy processing mines on Kaon, Tarn and several of the moon colonies (Starscream’s topic, though he’d pawned it off to Windblade). The major problem with the latter topic is that most of those mines were unsalvageable, having being bombed and desecrated and looted for supplies during the war. Fixing the indue would be a mess, but it seemed that with Optimus and Megatron’s input Windblade has surprisingly concluded on an action plan relatively efficiently. 

“I think I might be impressed by the fact that you got along.” Ultra Magnus added lightly. Optimus’ optic twitched, and he made a “shush” motion in Magnus’ direction. Magnus stared imploringly back, an unimpressed expression on his faceplate. Optimus’ optic twitched a second time. 

“I feel like I’m watching a family drama,” Whirl observed unhelpfully. Really, really unhelpfully. Rodimus wanted to scream. Optimus Prime was not his dad. Nope. No way. Not in a million years. Not even if Primus said so. 

“Which is what this is absolutely _not,”_ He interrupted, trying not to flame up in irritation, “And since the stuff that needed to be done got done, and you don’t need us anymore, Drift and I will be _leaving.”_

“Not so fast—“

Rodimus whirled around to glare at the assembled mecha. 

“What. Now.” He snarled, deliberately ignoring a comm. message from Drift. 

It was Ultra Magnus who spoke, interrupting Optimus, “Check in with Brainstorm when you get the chance, the lab has been unsupervised as a result of today’s events. It is a security risk.”

“That’s mildly worrying, yeah,” Rodimus agreed, calming a little. He shot Magnus a meaningful look. It wasn’t the most subtle of escapes, but Magnus had given him an out and for that he probably deserved another Rodimus Star. “C’mon Drift, we better check that out.”

 He felt Starscream’s questioning gaze trail them as they left.


End file.
